


setting fire to our insides for fun

by vladimirnabokovs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Infidelity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vladimirnabokovs/pseuds/vladimirnabokovs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeyne may wear the crown, but it is Sansa they bow to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	setting fire to our insides for fun

Sansa can feel her eyes.

They burn through her clothes like a brand on her skin. She wouldn't be surprised to shed them at night and see a shiny mottled mark.

But Robb would soothe it away anyway.

 

+

 

In the daylight, everything is bright and covered with a yellow glow. Sansa's hair beams striking red and her eyes are a crystalline blue. She’s the most beautiful woman in the north, there has never been any competition for that title. Everyone knows it, and perhaps her big brother Robb knows it best of all.

 

+

 

In the moonlight, Winterfell is still illuminated. By silver light, by the howls of wolves, by the sounds of the trees blowing in the cool winter winds.

There are shadows that weren't there before the war. There are scars left by dead fathers and missing sisters. There are scars that have etched themselves deep into the remaining Stark children’s' hearts, permanent and unfailingly present. Scars that no one but each other can even begin to understand.

 

+

 

Jeyne Westerling is a lovely girl.

Sansa can admire her sweet nature, her fine silks, and her pretty practiced smiles, smiles that Sansa knows all too well.

She can nod along at her stories of home, of her cousins and family gatherings, and smile politely at the compliments that are paid her way by Robb’s dutiful young wife.

 

+

 

But she isn't truly a northerner and it's almost always obvious.

The Stark bannermen greet her, not unkindly, but with toothless smiles and stiff 'Your Grace's.

She sits beside Robb in the repaired dining hall, in her sleeveless gowns that make the northern women titter.

"That one doesn't know what it's like to face our northern weather." she hears whispered between her handmaidens one day.

Sansa scolds them, because she should, because it would make Robb frown to hear those words.

With her head tilted down, she smiles.

 _You don't belong here_ , she thinks.

 

+

 

The nights belong to them.

He sneaks as silently as possible through the castle to her rooms, with Grey Wind at his heels.

She greets him with subtle smiles and round blue eyes.

And in a blur of heat from the fire and heat from their bodies, they tangle, dropping clothes and whispering words that are promises but sound like pleas.

It is the rawest Sansa has ever felt.

Not even Joffrey's cruel eyes and Cersei's cold words cut her as deep as the way Robb likes to touch her.

 

+

 

At some point, Sansa starts to feel like it's not real.

Jeyne is his wife. Jeyne is his _queen_. She has a title, she will bear his children.

She has a life, and yet sad Sansa Stark has nothing but the shameful crush of her brother's skin against her own night after night.

But, he loves her. He loves her as a sister, who he nearly died to protect, who he selfishly traded the Kingslayer for.

He loves her as a woman. He loves her body, the curves of her breasts and the smooth paleness of her skin, the dip of her waist and her long slim legs that wrap around his body and hold him close.

And he loves her as Sansa, as the girl who knows all his secrets, who can detect his moods like no one else, who knows to rub his neck when he gets frustrated and brings him sweets for them to share. Who kisses him first, always on the cheek, the nose, the eyelids and finally sweetly and cautiously on the lips.

He loves her best, titles and official ceremonies be damned.

 

+

 

"Do you -- I mean, --"

Robb shifts, lets his hand run down the length of her long auburn hair to rest on the dip of her waist. His eyes are closed, and his fingertips are full of gentle presses and he's nearing that state of half sleep he reaches at this time of the night.

Something inside her aches when she realizes she knows exactly what he looks like on the brink of sleep, realizes this is something she was probably aware of her whole life. Back when they played in the godswood and Robb would braid flowers into her hair and they shared warm beds and blankets and pillows more often than not.

"Hm?" his gravelly voice snaps her back to reality.

"Oh I --." she stops again and hesitates. She wants to ask _are you thinking of them? Do you sometimes feel like they're still here, living with us?_

These aren't new conversations, they've had many before. Late at night, with the last flames of the fire dancing across the walls, Sansa and Robb wrap around each other and speak in quiet voices about their siblings, their hearts and souls, their family and the things they've lost that leave big wounds hidden behind flesh and bone.

But this afternoon Sansa heard talk of her own maidenhead, who it would belong to.

More importantly, who their king, _her_ king would decide to give it to and she can't --

She can't.

"Do you think we should put more wood in the fire? It’s awfully cold."

 

+

 

"Jeyne doesn't know."

"Doesn’t know what." her voice is flat and she shuts her eyes tight, tight, tight until blackness paints the inside of her eyelids.

She doesn't want to talk about her.

"About her nameday present? The gown I showed you?" he tries to meet her eyes and she won't look up to face him. "I had it made in King's Landing, by the dragon queen's seamstresses do you think --"

"Robb." Sansa doesn't mean it to, but her voice wavers and she pinches her mouth into a hard line. She’s unattractive like this, frowning and cold eyed, she knows but.

She doesn't want to talk about _her_.

"Please."

He pulls her face up to his with his fingers under her chin and traces the lines in her forehead until she starts to smile, fighting it. He laughs and she shoves at him halfheartedly.

Quietly, so quietly she's unsure if it was actually said, Robb whispers, "You're mine, Sansa Stark."

He pulls her into his chest and she rests her nose into the dip where his neck meets his shoulder and breathes in. "Let's just rest for a while, we have ages until the sun starts to rise."

 

+

 

She’ll always be the other women.

This is a fact she has allowed to settle in her mind, isolated and ever present.

 

+

 

Except,

except, she's _not_.

From birth it's been Sansa and Robb Stark, the first trueborn children of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn.

Robb, the heir to Winterfell. Sansa, the most beautiful maiden in all of Westeros.

They grew up side by side, cloaked in heavy expectations that they were both anxious and desperate to meet.

Auburn haired beauties with Tully eyes, that circled around their mother's skirts until they were dizzy and breathless and laughing themselves silly.

Two children who liked to pretend to be knights and princesses and play games that they prayed would be reality someday.

Two idealistic and hopeful Stark children that had their hearts sawed out and their dreams turned to dust under their fingers, who didn't realize the harshness of their world until it was far too late, who were too trusting and too honest and too sheltered.

They were two sides of the same coin, torn apart by the world and left with nobody but each other to reach out to.

 

+

 

The northerners like to whisper.

Mean things, petty things, silly things about Jeyne and Robb and pretty little Sansa Stark in the middle of it all.

About 'Lannisters' and 'Targeryens' and about incestuous siblings gone wrong.

But Sansa Stark is wolf's blood and one of the only two remaining Starks.

And Robb is their king, the king in the north and only a true northerner can be queen.

 

+

 

Sansa can feel her eyes, during meals, when they break their fast, when they walk side by side through the godswood.

Jeyne has pretty eyes, pretty like the rest of her. She’s beautiful, and Sansa cannot begrudge her brother for falling for a beautiful lady.

But she's jealous, because there is no doubting that Robb did fall for her. He took her, and had no choice but to be the honorable man and wed her as well. And then he brought her back to his home, to his remaining family and let her settle into their lives, however broken they may have been.

She knows. She _must_ know.

Robb has not spent a full night in Jeyne's bed since they returned to Winterfell. And even during the last days of the war, when Queen Daenerys was burning through land with her dragons, Robb rarely left Sansa’s side.

So Jeyne watches.

When Robb leans a little more to the right at supper, instead of the left by his wife, she sees. When he brings Sansa cakes in the afternoon, or when they spend hours in the godswood, alone and come back with flushed faces, she watches, with her pretty pretty eyes and never says a thing.

And Sansa can always feel them, but somewhere along the line Robb's hand on her body and his thoughts whispered into her ears mean more to her than what people may see or think.

 

+

 

The northerners have their queen.

Robb and Sansa Stark may not sit side by side on thrones, or have auburn haired and blue eyed children at their feet but.

They are northern blood. They are wolf's blood.

It flows in their veins and it wraps around their hearts and it calls to them.

Jeyne may wear the crown but it is Sansa they bow to.

**Author's Note:**

> It would seem I'm doomed to write incest pairings forever. Hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
